


La Ritournelle

by blueruin



Series: A Song for You [3]
Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 15:04:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13056435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueruin/pseuds/blueruin
Summary: The title is from Sébastien Tellier's "La Ritournelle," on which this story is loosely based.This is for my favorite faraway friend, Lucy.





	La Ritournelle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rilla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rilla/gifts).



> The title is from Sébastien Tellier's "La Ritournelle," on which this story is loosely based.
> 
> This is for my favorite faraway friend, Lucy.

"You okay?"

It was your thing.

He was the one who asked you on that first day at the bungalow. You grinned and said, "Yeah," because eloquence wasn’t your strongest suit. 

At first it was just to show genuine concern and make sure everything was fine. But you checked up on each other far too often that "You okay?" became your hello. Sometimes it’s what you’d say instead of goodbye. It was comforting. Especially when coupled with a nudge on the shoulder, a hand on the lower back, or sometimes a kiss on the cheek. He was always there, making sure you were okay. And you were there making sure that he was, too.

Maybe it became so much like routine that it lost its appeal as the years went by. A short exchange that used to encompass the way home no longer carried enough weight for it to matter.

So you never noticed when you stopped saying it. You never realized when you stopped hearing it. So you forgot to ask. And you never learned what his answer would have been. You never knew that something was wrong. Until he was no longer there to tell you.

He called you once, just to tell you he was sorry for leaving. But you stayed silent to keep from lashing out in anger and frustration and guilt and pain. So you watched as you let what you once had disappear down a crackling phone line. You were too far apart that you could barely hear each other anyway. So you never noticed that he asked if you were okay. And he never learned that all you wanted was for him to stay.

Sometimes you hear it and it feels like walking in a daze, spending hours in sepia, going through memories softened by nostalgia. Other times it’s like watching a balloon disappear into the ether and realizing that nothing lasts forever.

You hear it, and it breaks your heart again and again and again. Two simple words that used to encompass the way home now sound like a fragile old instrument, too brittle and teetering out of tune.  

Sometimes you hear it in your head and it sounds like the steady _tap tap_ tapping of rain on the roof of a car when you were a kid, quiet and still, watching through the window as everything you pass by dissolves, leaving only blurry wisps of color. 

It sounds a bit like London at times. But even London isn’t big enough to cover the swells and falls, the yearning and burning, the rapture and melancholy. So you write things down to fully comprehend them. You turn them into songs and throw them into the void to spit out the longing from your tongue.

But maybe all you need is to see him. Stop running away. Close the distance. Make the first goddamn move for once.

So that’s what you do.

You cross oceans, and you find yourself in a farm in the middle of nowhere. It’s the last place you expected, but it also makes the most perfect sense. 

Two years is too fucking long, and your ribcage is just about ready to burst open. You want to see him. Grab him by the lapels and demand an apology. Push him up against a wall and etch your name on his skin. Touch his cheek and tell him you're sorry. Kiss the palm of his hand and tell him you miss him. 

Instead, you trip on air because you’re an idiot. But strong arms catch you just in time.

"You okay?" he asks, and all you can do is nod. Two years of silence and the first thing he wants to know is if you’re okay. You try to laugh, but a sob comes out instead. He’s here, he’s happy, he’s healthy, he’s safe, he’s different, he’s the same, and he wants to know if you’re okay.

His ridiculously perfect face is mere inches away from yours, and all you want to do is squish his cheeks and tell him how proud you are of him. But you file that thought away for later because you still need to give him a proper answer.

You look him in the eye and flash a genuine smile for the first time in a long while. "Yeah," you reply, because eloquence still isn’t your strong suit. He does that annoyingly adorable crinkly-eyed smile thing and it’s like that first day in the bungalow again. You open your arms in invitation, and he hugs you with no hesitation. 

This, here and now, with him, is what happiness feels like.

For years, you’ve felt like you should be elsewhere. But there, in the circle of his arms, in the middle of a fucking farm, you finally feel a sense of belonging. 

All at once, a montage of scenes flash through your mind as you stay there, holding on for dear life. A full moon. Trees rustling at night. Empty roads for miles. A symphony of random animal noises. Homecooked meals and half-full glasses. Music wafting from the speakers. Sitting by the fire. Falling asleep under thick blankets. Waking up with the sun. Every second that ticks by leaves a new scene at your door. Each one is a gift, or a reward for being found without knowing you were ever lost.

_This is what love probably is_ , you think. You've been consumed with the idea of it for so long that you’ve chased after it in all the wrong places. But there, in the middle of nowhere, with the one person to ever truly know the real you, is where you finally get it. 

_Love is to share_ , and yours is for him.

"You okay?" you whisper in his cheek.

"Yeah," he tells you in the corner of your mouth.

And just like that, you’re home.

**Author's Note:**

> If you wish to cry over these beautiful idiots, fangirl over talented zarry authors, discuss music and stories and writing, or just talk about random things, send me a note at https://smoke-flowers.tumblr.com and I’ll reply. I promise.


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